A letter from Heaven
by Kodel Cri
Summary: A novelization of the events of Silent Hill 2. Rated R for violence and gore, as well as numerous references to murder and suicide. Please R
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The characters and events are fictional, and are copyrighted by Microsoft and Sony and a host of other companies who probably couldn't care less that I'm using them in this fan fiction. I claim no part of ownership of the characters, settings, or events contained herein, but as this is my work of fanfiction, I do claim ownership of it. Anyone who wishes to use this fanfiction for another site may do so. I do ask that you credit me for the story, and notify me that you are posting it somewhere else.  
  
Writers opening: This'll be my first major piece that I hope to actually finish. I invite anyone who wishes to review or flame me.  
  
1  
'Our Special Place'  
  
He splashed the murky water on his face, trying to clear the grime from his eyes. He had driven nearly all day yesterday and all through the night, arriving just after 4 in the morning. He had slept through sunrise, and the car clock had told him once he had awoken that it was just after 1 pm.  
  
The bathroom was horrendous. Green-black grime stuck to everything. The smell was a cross between decayed excrement and rotten timbers. The tiling was cracked so badly the foundation was showing through most of the floor. All the toilets and urinals had already fallen into complete disrepair, leaking gray water everywhere. The sinks still had water flowing through them, but James didn't have enough faith in his immune system to try actually drinking it.  
  
He stepped out of the bathroom, raising a hand to shield his eyes. Walking over to his car, he popped the front door open again, catching the road map as it suddenly fell due to a sudden gust of wind. Silent hill was circled several times on the maps corner. He tossed it in the back seat and sat, resting his head against the chair, feeling exhaustion start to creep back into him again.  
  
What the hell was he doing here? He was either on the verge of insanity, or someone was playing one of the cruelest pranks he had ever heard of.  
  
Or.  
  
He stared at his reflection in the rear view mirror, seeing the tiredness all but etched into his face, and then shook his head. His brain could not logically comprehend another 'or'. He was either cracking up, or cracking from stress. Still, he could not discount that last 'or' entirely. Logic or not, he had enough faith and superstition to fill in several more 'or.' possibilities.  
  
He hesitated as he reached into his pocket, drawing a folded piece of paper free with all the tenderness and care as someone might treat their firstborn child. or a stick of dynamite.  
  
The paper was thick, cream colored, and rough to the touch. Not that shoddy printer paper stuff, this had the look and feel of hand made. Faint scrolling cursive script traced the page in a style and hand that he could've recognized with his eyes closed. It was a delicate hand, demure and soft, with carefully drawn letters and even spacing. He felt his heart start to speed up as he read the page for what must've been at least the hundredth time since he'd received it two days ago.  
  
He'd found it in his mailbox, of course. It hadn't been delivered by the hand of an angel, deposited on his forehead while he slept, or suddenly discovered in his back pocket, it had just simply been placed in his box along with his morning paper. There had been no return address on the envelope, nor was there a postmark or stamp. Written across the back was the word Mary. He thought it had been a hallucination when he first saw it.  
  
But here it was in his hand, and he traced the script with his index finger while he read.  
  
In my restless dreams, I see that town. Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me There again someday. But you never did. Well, I'm alone there now. In our special place. Waiting for you.  
  
He sighed heavily, letting out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding. There was no salutation or closing, nor did he need one. The handwriting, the wording, even the kind of paper told him innately that it had really been written by her.  
  
Mary.  
  
His wife was dead. He was certain of it. He had arranged the funeral. He had given the eulogy, the same hollow claptrap he had heard spouted from a dozen other mournful friends and family members. He had watched her go into the ground. There was no way she could be here. It simply wasn't possible.  
  
Yet here he was. Silent Hill. Their "special place."  
  
True, the whole town had been there special place. They had originally come here as part of a weekend vacation, yet had ended up staying two whole weeks. There weren't many things to do, outside the amusement park and the small handful of museums. But there was just. something about the town. James had never felt more tranquil or at peace than while he had just sat in there motel room, strolled along the park, watched the children play outside the elementary school. He could even clearly remember the clear, dulcet tone the tower bell had made, calling the kids back in from recess. Having Mary there simply made the experience feel like he had walked into a small piece of Heaven.  
  
He rose from the car seat and walked across the asphalt toward the entrance tunnel. Wire mesh gates, padlocked together and boarded over with sheet metal covered the entrance to the town. He had seen the roadblock last night, and thought that it was possible that they denied entry to anyone coming into the town that late, but it still struck him as incredibly odd. He pulled at the gate links vainly.  
  
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" He called, already knowing it was in vain. The tunnel vanished into blackness several feet in. not a single light he could see was on. They must've closed the tunnel to all traffic, he concluded.  
  
But that was insane. The tunnel was the only main route into town, aside from the local road that ran by the amusement park. While the park road ran into another interstate, he would have to drive almost a hundred miles around town and lake to get inside, and he had to get inside, no matter the cost.  
  
He blinked in surprise at the last thought. No matter the cost? He was starting to sound to himself less and less like a man walking into a cruel joke, and more like a psychotic wandering through a delusion, trying to rescue his dead wife from some pseudo-psychologically prison.  
  
If it's a delusion, then what are you doing here? The rational half of his mind asked. He wished he could shut that voice up sometimes. "I have no idea." He admitted out loud. His whisper didn't echo like he thought it would, instead swallowed up by the still, tranquil morning. Silent Hill indeed, he thought. He turned, and looked towards the lake, looking out at a sweeping wave of fog, slowly rolling in towards the shore. He and Mary had been mired in that gray maze before, and James was loathe to try and walk through it again. There was a good chance he would step in a gopher hole or something and break his leg. If he was going to go, he had to go now.  
  
He walked over the retaining wall of the parking lot, a simple stacked rock wall and formed the perimeter of the lot. He was surprised it was no well maintained. It didn't look like the lot saw a great deal of use anymore. There was one break in the wall, marked with a large purple arrow sign. 'Toluca Lake.' The lake had been one of there special places. He reached into his pocket and drew out a photograph. It was of Mary, before her disease took her youth and vitality. Her skin as fresh and vibrant looking, and seemed to glow with the backlight of the photo. Her gorgeous brunette hair was cropped close to her head, offsetting the soft pink dress shirt she was wearing. She smiled faintly, but the face still gave her a look of energy and life. And in the background.  
  
Silent Hill. Their special place. Their own little paradise. He could clearly make out the lake and another hill rising in the background. He had taken the photo on a perfectly clear day, from the patio of the hotel, so he might've even shot the lot where he was now standing. He took one last look back at his car, and then started down the trail. Whether or not Mary was alive or dead, he had come here again looking for something, and by God, he was going to find it. 


	2. The Woman in the Graveyard

2  
'The Woman in the Graveyard'  
  
Authors Note: First, an apology for the awful grammar and formatting on part 1, and for what will be on all the following parts. I cannot figure out yet how to put certain characters and extra spaces into word documents that go up. Anyone who knows how please send me a message  
  
The trail was long and winding, the dirt path tilting down as it followed the edge of the lake. It branched away not far from the parking lot, and he suddenly found himself at a wrought iron gate. He could barely make out a line of soft gray headstones through the soft blanket of fog. An old stone wall led in both directions from the gate, and he could even see the shadow of an old style church looming off in the distance. This area was certainly old. He had even seen an old well just before the gates. It had been dry, but still in surprisingly good repair.  
  
He had gotten used to the fog the first time he had been here with Mary, but it had never really been this bad. He was lucky to be able to see twenty feet in front of him. The fog should have been dispersing, not rising, this late in the day. The air was not damp, and in was only slightly cool, but nowhere near the temperature needed for this much fog. But at least it was not a great hindrance. He would just cross this graveyard, and. and.  
  
And what? Where was he supposed to go? The hotel they had stayed at? The park? The school or the lake front? The town was too large to search end to end. He shook his head. He would head for the hotel first. Regardless of where he was going to look, he would at least need a room to stay in. And getting there would take him past the park, which he could check as he passed it. He checked his map, circling the hotel and the park in bright red ink  
  
It suddenly dawned on him that this spot was not on the map. He had been expecting to come out right at Toluca avenue after following the path away from the lot. He prayed he was not lost, as he could end up wandering around forever until the fog lifted. He shrugged and pushed through the gate. He certainly wouldn't get any closer to town just standing there.  
  
The quiet of the graveyard was almost cloying, and he nearly shivered. He hated these places, which was no surprise now that he had been one of those rare few who had to put others in the ground before they had planned to.  
  
He then noticed another person. A woman in a white sweater and dark red jeans, with shoulder length black hair, was squatting in front of one of the graves. James started to approach, and felt a spike of guilt. He didn't want to bother her in a place like this, but he really did need directions.  
  
"Excuse me, I." he said. The woman all but leapt to her feet, and whirled to face him, gasping in surprise "I'm sorry. I . I. I was just." He nearly laughed at her reaction. She must've thought he was the groundskeeper or a guard. He held his open hands out to his sides, trying not to look meanacing. "No it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you." He stepped back. "I'm kinda lost."  
  
"Lost?" The woman cocked her head to one side, staring at him like he was nuts. He blinked in surprise. What was so surprising about that? He raised and pointed to were he thought the town must lie. "Yeah, I'm looking for Silent Hill. Is this the right way?"  
  
The woman clutched her sides protectively, and nodded slightly "Uh. yeah. It's hard to see with this fog, but there's only the one road. You can't miss it." He nodded, and suddenly she raised a hand, almost in warning "But, I think you better stay away. This uh. This town, there's something wrong with it. It's kinda hard to explain, but." she trailed off, searching for the right words.  
  
"Is it dangerous?" he asked.  
  
"Maybe, and it's not just the fog either, it's." James shook his head slightly, turning away. "Okay. I got it. I'll be careful." The woman suddenly stamped her foot, doing a near perfect impression of a nine-year- olds pout. "I'm not lying!" James waved reassuringly "No, I believe you." He turned away, staring off into the fog, and shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess. I really don't care if it's dangerous or not." He turned back towards her "I'm going to town either way." He was almost surprised at the confidence in his own voice.  
  
"But why?" James' voice dropped again. "I'm looking for. someone." "Who, who is it?" Again, he turned towards the rolling fog. "Someone. someone very important to me." He heard the woman shuffle away slightly "Me too. I'm looking for my momma, I mean my mother." She corrected herself. "Its been so long since I've seen her I thought my father and brother would be here too, but I can't find them either." She suddenly straightened and turned towards him again "I'm sorry, it's not your problem."  
  
He motioned again, trying to reassure her. "No it's alright. I hope you find them." He didn't want to stay around and risk upsetting her further, so he started heading through the fog.  
  
"Yeah, you too." She said towards his retreating back.  
  
He followed the low stone wall around, past the old moisture coated church, to a second gate, which led to a much wider beaten dirt path, almost the size for a car or truck. He wondered faintly why someone would go to the trouble of making a dirt road out here without bothering to pave it, then realized he didn't care. He stuck his hands into his pockets and slowly plodded up the road  
  
He followed the path out of the cemetery, which twisted and turned in long switchbacks up and over the hill. He thought he had walked about an eighth of a mile when he heard the grinding of a motor. Then he had rounded the next bend, and saw, lying along the edge of the path was a large timber log, cut into about an eight foot section, and settling through the wood, in the middle, was a bright red gas powered chain saw. The teeth still gnawed angrily at the wood, throwing out sawdust in a faint yellow mist. James looked around for whoever had been sawing the log, but saw no one. He walked over and pulled the thing free, which rattled and smoothed at the sudden lack of resistance. It wasn't that old or clunky, but it had an aura around it that said it was a piece of equipment more likely to been seen as a horror movie prop rather than in a lumber yard. He clicked the starter off, and the saw gave one final rattle and then fell silent. After staring at it a moment longer, he set the saw down by the side of the log, and proceeded further down the trail. It was far too bulky and heavy to carry, and besides, why would he need a chainsaw?  
  
In hindsight of course, he sorely regretted not taking it along. 


	3. Here there be Monsters

3  
'Here there be Monsters'  
  
The path widened slowly as he followed it, curving around a high chain link fence, marked periodically with 'DANGER! NO TRESPASSING!' signs. He came upon a high brick wall, which he remembered as the water breakers the town had built to prevent erosion from the lake. He followed the edge of the wall, feeling vaguely surprised at how out of repair the structure appeared. It was pitted and badly cracked along most of its length, and charred with what looked like soot.  
  
He passed under a narrow tunnel, coming to another fence, also marked with a keep out sign, which he guessed marked the edge of town. The passage opened onto a narrow paved road, and he almost sighed with relief as he passed a street sign marking it as Toluca Road. He pulled out his map and checked it, nodding to himself. He just needed to follow the road up to the intersection, and then take street, which would take him straight to the park. From there, he could follow the road around the lake to the hotel.  
  
His stomach rumbled in protest to his current plan, and he remembered he hadn't had anything to eat yet. He remembered this corner of the town. There should be a diner just across the road. The fog had become so thick he could no longer even see that far. He walked across, not hearing a single car or spotting a single light. A blue street diner suddenly loomed up out of the gray, all the curtains drawn across, and the lights behind them off. He blinked in surprise, walking up the stairs and trying the door. Locked. The hours sheet was still taped to the inside of the door, and by them, the diner should've still been open. But he couldn't see a single form stirring. He grumbled faintly, and turned away, walking further down the road. There would certainly be other places to get some food further up the road. Maybe the diner was closed for repairs, and had forgotten to put up a sign.  
  
His heart suddenly began to race as he reached the intersection. There was fresh blood splattered across the road in a wide curving smear, which extended a few feet up the avenue, in the same direction he wanted to go. It looked far too large a mark to have been made by an animal run over by a car. It looked more like something had been dragged away. He looked up the road, and could, for a split second, make out the shape of a person stumbling away. He might be hurt, James thought, and looked back down at the road. And hurt badly, from the looks of it. He started jogging, following the blood trail, trying to catch up to the retreating shape which had already vanished into the mist. He didn't view himself as a knight in shining armor, but he couldn't just ignore the possibility that someone might be dying less than a hundred feet away from him. He came across the entrance of a long, narrow road, which the dragging smear of blood continued down. "My God," he murmured. He broke into an all out run. Forget hurt, he thought. If one man had bled that much, he was almost certainly on his way to bleeding to death.  
  
The asphalt broke into a wide dirt road again, which ran up to a high fence ringed capped with barbed wire. The entrance was ajar though, and James stepped through, crossing a wide, empty lot towards the mouth of a red brick and stone tunnel passing a rusting pickup truck. He called out again, but received no reply. He stepped closer to the mouth, which was crossed over with a chest high ramshackle wood fence; as he drew closer, he could pick up the droning hiss of radio static. He crossed under the fence through a gap, and found himself in the dark, the white noise just off to his left. He felt around, and came across a small box the size of his hand, which he picked up to hold into the light  
  
It was an old hand held radio, blaring white noise, and he batted it with his free hand in a vain attempt to clear up the signal. The white noise of the radio suddenly intensified to a high pitched whine, and James felt himself wince slightly. As the noise rose and fell, he suddenly heard something stirring behind him, and the sounds of several wood planks made him spin. "Is someone there?" he blurted quickly. Probably only an animal, but his heart was already racing again. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a human form lying on the ground, resting against the wall of the pipe, and standing over it was another human form. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice died in his throat as the thing heard him and came into the light  
  
What stumbled towards him was something out of a nightmare. It looked almost human, but it possessed neither arms nor a head. Its flesh was almost gangrenous, covered in mottled wounds, and weeping, open sores, which slid over its torso as it convulsed madly. On two disjointed, cancerous legs, the thing shambled towards him, letting out a cry that was almost a cross between a belch and a scream.  
  
James stumbled backwards, almost dropping the radio, as he searched frantically for a weapon. There were rocks lying about, but they were mostly pebbles, and everything else he could throw was far too heavy. His hand suddenly closed around a thick piece of wood. Looking down, he saw it was nailed into the support. He leaned, and pulled up. The wood groaned as it suddenly ripped free, pulling most of the nails with it. Iron tips jutted from the head of his improvised club. He held it tightly in both hands, and stepped back further, into the foggy light outside. The thing shambled after him, and he gagged suddenly as a rush of air down the tunnel carried the fetid stench of the monster into him.  
  
When his wife Mary had been dying, he had waited patiently by her side. He had walked through the corridors of the wing where she was housed with other terminal patients. The smells of decay and illness seemed to permeate the walls of the building. Death was a constant companion to the patients, and their agony seemed only to intensify the vile stench of the place.  
  
This shambling form before him seemed to exude that same smell of decay and corrosion, of wasting disease and sickness, and he felt himself sneer in rage at the memories that it had made him recall. That hospital, that ward, that bed. His grip tightened, and he stepped forward, swinging his club at what he thought was the monsters head. The nails ripped into the rotting flesh of the thing, tearing strips of decaying matter away as he carved a path along its torso. It seemed to let out a sort of cry, a high pitched whining like a dog. Black ichor gushed down its torso and across its legs as James tore the weapon free, preparing to swing again.  
  
Suddenly the thing leaned back, almost to a degree that James thought it would fall over, that he had already killed it, but instead it released a roaring belch, and he was suddenly sprayed with a revolting brown mist. It felt acidic, and his eyes watered even as he tried to close out the rank material. The same stench nearly overpowered him again, and he was certain he would've vomited had he actually inhaled any of it. He flailed madly, dissipating the disgusting cloud, and he swung at the thing again, catching it almost at the waist. The monster suddenly doubled over, and he ripped the club free as it collapsed to the ground. He reared back and kicked it hard, rolling it over.  
  
Dark red blood began to ooze out of the corpse, and he poked it with the nails. What the hell was it? It looked almost human, but it certainly wasn't. Now that he had a chance to stop and look at it, he realized that it was rotting before his eyes, slowly melting into a gray-brown slush. Realizing his eyes were still burning from the attack, he scrambled back towards the pick up truck. He had seen a water hose nearby. Following the plastic line on the ground, he unscrewed the water valve, and gushed cool, clean water on his face. The stinging in his eyes faded as he washed the stink from himself.  
  
He shook the water from his face as he looked back towards the town. The familiar and beautiful place that had held such a place in his heart now looked ominous and foreboding.  
  
What the hell was going on? He straightened, suddenly remembering the second form in the arched tunnel. He ducked back inside and stepped over the dissolving form. He could make out in the dark the body of a man, his shirt and pants coated with blood. James grimaced and swallowed hard, and reached a timid hand out to the man's throat. No pulse.  
  
He sighed heavily, stepping back out into the light. This had started out as a search he had somehow known would be fruitless, and was now evolving into a waking nightmare. He reached down and picked up the board, and blinked in amazement. The head of the plank, which had just thirty seconds ago been splattered with ragged flesh and blood, was now spotless. It even looked almost new, save for the nails, which had already been bent and coated with a faint patina of rust. He didn't have a better weapon close at hand, and decided to take it along. He was afraid he may need it again. He increased his pace to a slow jog, back towards the main road. He had a good reason to hurry now; he wanted to get far away from that tunnel, in case another one of those things came shambling out. Suddenly the radio crackled to life, and he could make out a voice through the rolling static.  
  
"Ja..I..ere." He felt his breath catch in his throat. It was badly distorted, but he could still make out the voice. For just a moment, it had sounded just like Mary. He pulled the radio out of his pocket and held it up in front of him. He hadn't even realized he had put it into his coat.  
  
"eed..mes..find." Come on, he thought intently. The sound was too distorted to make out anything clear. He felt his heart sink as the static subsided, along with the message, and he stuck the radio back into his pocket. Monsters, weird messages from the radio directed to him sent by his dead wife, and a town full of dead people and empty buildings. This was certainly turning into a wonderful vacation. 


End file.
